


All Songs Search For Silence

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has been hurt many times, and Merlin's magic has never been able to heal him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Songs Search For Silence

At night, when Arthur lies asleep beside him, Merlin sends tendrils of magic towards his king. A tentative, winsome magic that always, always dissipates upon touching Arthur’s skin.

He doesn’t understand. A hundred books he has scoured without finding an answer. In a way, it pleases him that the magic cannot have Arthur. This magic that stirs within Merlin, yet does not belong to him. He is glad that the kisses, the fingers that wrap around his hand, the head laid on his shoulder belong to him and him alone. He must reach Arthur with his own words, his own body, his own breath.

Other times, he remembers Arthur lying pale and bloody after being bitten by the Questing Beast. He remembers pulling an arrow out of Arthur’s back, and Arthur curled on the ground with Merlin’s coat wrapped around him. Such a pitiable, helpless gesture. He hadn’t been able to heal Arthur. The magic had failed, and his words had been empty.

Then he shivers, cold, and reaches out to touch. A hand to his king’s shoulder, that is all, but it reassures and comforts.

One day, he asks Kilgharrah about this puzzle, about why, when his magic is meant for Arthur, his king is immune to its effects.

The dragon has flown them up onto the side of a mountain, and Merlin looks down at the land spreading out like a pool of green water, and he feels small and carefree, with the wind tugging at his coat and an apple, snatched from the kitchens, heavy in his pocket. Kilgharrah stretches out, content, breath whuffling through his nostrils.

The question seeps onto Merlin’s tongue, welling to the forefront of thoughts that had been concerned with how sheep looked from the air and whether the cook would put too much pepper in the soup again.

“Why can’t I use my magic to heal Arthur?” he asks.

Silence. The dragon’s eyes remain closed, and Merlin crouches down to scratch the itchy spot under his chin. Kilgharrah swishes his tail, sending a boulder rattling down the slope.

“It was intended as a benison,” Kilgharrah answers at last.

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

The dragon nudges his hand, and Merlin obediently starts scratching again. “When Arthur is injured or an illness takes him and his death nears, what would you do to save his life?” Kilgharrah asks.

“Anything,” Merlin replies. “Anything.”

Another pause. The dragon’s voice comes gently when he says, “And that, Merlin, is your answer.”

Merlin’s legs fold under him, and his breath turns short and painful, dragging in his chest. He leans against the dragon, resting his cheek on sun-warmed scales. Above them, clouds drift and collide, unfurling into ragged spires. Merlin watches and thinks about the sound of a knife thudding into wood and an arrogant, calloused palm clasping his arm. He thinks of how Arthur will greet him when he returns in the evening, and of an empty morning that awaits him over an unknown but implacable horizon.


End file.
